A Very Brief History of Panem
by Gamemakers
Summary: Like every nation, Panem has a history. A collection of oneshots that together describe what made Panem the nation it became.
1. Prologue

Once, in a land not so different from our own, a powerful government collapsed, leaving a reign of chaos that lasted many long years. Its people were scared, and though they clung to the remnants of the lives they had lived, slowly, they lost everything that had once defined them. Their old communities fell, and from the rubble emerged fourteen powerful city-states that came to exert influence over all of the once-great nation. But these city-states were not created equal, and eventually, two great powers developed. But power breeds greed, and these states would not be content for long.

One came as friends to the other states. They offered opportunity to their new allies, an opportunity for trade and specialization. For, they argued, from specialization comes productivity. From productivity comes wealth. From wealth comes comfort and security. In a world as unstable as their own, it was little wonder that they willingly accepted the seemingly kind offer.

The other power, though, had little use for friends. Having inherited the secrets of terrible weapons from their forefathers, this state expanded through war. One by one, the nearby city-states fell under its rule. With each conquest, the ruling state became more powerful and more greedy.

But the two powers could not expand forever. Eventually, neither could grow without infringing upon the territory of the other. And so the two powers circled each other as if gladiators in ancient arenas, each waiting eagerly for the first opportunity to strike. The people waited with bated breath for the war they all felt was coming.

And war would have come, if not for a clever man in the western power. He approached the warlike East with a novel suggestion: the two city-states could rule the continent together in peace. Neither had to die so that the other could thrive. The East agreed, and for a time the new nation of Panem prospered in peace under its two rulers. West and East ruled as crown and scepter, equal in their power and influence.

But it could not last, for peace saw no use for the East's weapons of war. Their power declined, and the West emerged as the one true Capitol. It began to treat its former ally not as an equal, but as simply another of the once-strong city-states. The East chaffed under this new arrangement, and resentment simmered. It urged the Capitol's other districts into a rebellion that they could not win. The Capitol used Thirteen's own weapons against them, and when that failed to destroy their enemy, they banished their former ally.

For seventy-five years, the East waited for an opportunity to strike back at their old rivals. When their leader watched a Girl on Fire ignite the nation, she knew their time had finally come.

.oOo.

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! As mentioned in the summary, this will be a collection of oneshots from before the 75th Games - anything that would be considered 'history book worthy' is fair game. They will all be compliant with this chapter, which provides the background for the entire story. Feedback is much appreciated!


	2. A Feast

**A/N:** For Zero and because I just had to write a messed-up Thanksgiving story. Written using the Caesar's Palace prompt _opulent_. Happy holidays!

.oOo.

"Sir, there's a problem in the districts." The hands of Antonius Cord, Head of Distributions one of the most powerful men in Panem, shook as he spoke.

President Snow noted the motion wordlessly and leaned back in the high-backed chair. "And what might this problem be?" Silence stretched between the two of them, and Snow could feel a smirk tugging at his lips. He'd heard himself compared to a snake once, cold-blooded as it waited for its prey, ready at any second to sink its venomous fangs into a victim. Snow appreciated the perfect comparison, but the woman responsible for that comparison should have known better than to tempt a poisonous creature.

The other man clasped his hands together behind his back. "Our forecasters believe that the energy and water allotments for each district will no longer meet demands in five years. We must improve and expand the infrastructure."

"I'm sure you can think of another solution." He reached into a bowl of cherries and selected the plumpest, juiciest of them. Before he popped it into his mouth, Snow raised his eyebrow and looked towards the other man. "Surely I have not promoted to Head of Distributions a man that can't think of innovative solutions? I did have such high hopes for you."

His face paled as Snow bit down on the cherry. Cord gulped. "I'm sorry, sir, but my entire team has been unable to find a way to further cut energy or water usage. Most of the power in each district goes to production, and therefore usage can't be reduced without lowering our standards of living here in the Capitol. We used minimal daily rations in our forecasts on water usage. It just isn't possible to not expand, sir."

Snow studied him for an instant. "Yes, very disappointing indeed. I had such high hopes for you." He allowed the man to wait, uncomfortable, for a long moment before continuing. "Do tell me, Cord, why will the demand for water and power increase?"

"Population growth, sir." Snow watched as realization dawned on the man. "Mister President, are you suggesting…?"

"I would never go so far," he said. "But, should there be poor harvests in Nine this year resulting in shortages throughout the districts, it seems that this problem could be lessened."

Cord paled, but he nodded all the same. "Yes, that could be highly beneficial."

Snow smiled, and he knew that Cord would be able to see the blood that ran between his teeth. "It's been a pleasure as always. Now, if you could escort yourself out. I still have Thanksgiving preparations to finish. It's always so difficult to throw the perfect feast, don't you agree?" Thanksgiving, a remnant of Panem's past that went uncelebrated outside the Capitol, had always been his granddaughter's favorite holiday. It wouldn't do to disappoint young Cornelia.

Cord fumbled over his agreement and goodbyes, nearly racing from the room.

Snow reached for another cherry, thinking as he chewed the sweet fruit. Should he have the cooks prepare duck or turkey for the meal? He mulled over the question for long minutes, still unsure which Cornelia would prefer, but not wanting to ask and sacrifice the surprise. He had never expected that being a grandfather would involve so many difficult choices.


	3. Forged in Flames

District Thirteen was born of fire. Scared of their own creations, scientists had buried the weapons deep underground. Perhaps it was easier to ignore the destruction they could reap with a no more than a few lines of computer code when the weapons themselves were hidden; perhaps, those scientists and the government they had worked for had not wanted their citizens to know what they'd created. Thirteen had lost the details of its history long ago, but it retained its might.

Its culture had remained as well. Long after the president gave the order to begin construction on Fort Dellings, when told to jump, the correct answer was still 'how high?' Order commanded more value than liberty, just as it always had.

When war did come, what would someday be Thirteen barely survived a horrific bombing attack. While the rest of the country was flattened and burned, the land so poisoned that some areas could not be used for another thousand years, the marines huddled in the deepest levels of their bunkers, waiting for the maelstrom to end, worried that despite the assurances of the military's top engineers, they wouldn't survive the next few days.

They did, but when the conflict ended, little was left of the world they knew. The other survivors had enough problems of their own; they could spare little aid for the military that many believed had only made the war worse. So what little remained of Fort Dellings retreated back underground. Their base had been designed to be self-sustained for short periods of time, but the original engineers could not have imagined a situation so dire. Resources meant to last weeks were stretched over months. Every night, it seemed, less food appeared on their well-worn tin plates. When the ribs of the once-strong soldiers poked out from sallow skin, the leaders knew that something had to be done. _We still have options_, they whispered, for it went so far against their mandates to be openly discussed, even in the strictest of confidences.

That is, until the day the unthinkable became necessary. With the entire fort on the very brink of starvation, what remains of the base's high command composed a letter to be sent to all the remaining settlements. Its message was simple: give or die. Naturally, they chose to give, and in time, what would become District Thirteen again grew strong.

.oOo.

This newfound strength could not last forever. Soon, Thirteen again struggled, this time under the oppressive rule of a distant president. The long, grueling hours for little more than a few bites of bread chafed their pride, especially when they thought back to a history that was now more myth than fact, when they remembered the power they had once wielded.

The Capitol did not see the threat that Thirteen posed until it was too late. The sparks of revolution were already there, but Thirteen was the only one of the districts willing to stir the coals. They spearheaded the cause, and soon all of the districts erupted into conflict. Protests, riots, strikes, everything that the president had worked so long to suppress burst to life. White-clad Peacekeepers abandoned their posts and fled for the safety of the Capitol, certain that the districts were within days of freedom.

They could not have been more wrong, for the Capitol still had a few surprises for the rebels. Missiles flew through the air at thousands of feet per second, all aimed at one target. In Thirteen, only the soft hum of hovercraft engines warned them of what was to come. Seconds later, Thirteen was engulfed in flames.

Again, the remaining citizens hid deep inside its underground chambers. This time, they swore, they would make their enemies pay for the devastation they'd suffered. The survivors trained harder, every moment spent in anticipation of their coming revenge. The Capitol would burn; they refused to accept any other conclusion to their story.

Perhaps it was only fitting that a Girl on Fire would be their salvation.

.oOo.

President Coin knew the instant her Capitol contact mentioned Katniss Everdeen that she would be the last president of an independent Thirteen. Pressure had been building in the districts for years, and this girl, unlikely of a hero as she seemed, had provided the burst of energy needed to start a chain reaction. The map in the command center became crowded with colored pins that indicated burnt crops, overturned Peacekeeper transports, and outright riots. She'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

The girl, though, would be difficult to control. She was still afraid; her performance on her Victory Tour proved that much. Snow had frightened her into silence.

Coin had learned with the death of her husband and daughter that fear required having something to lose. When she saw the little blond girl and her mother, her mind was set. There would almost certainly be survivors, and they could rebuild the population that Thirteen lost in the plague that had claimed her family. Her voice did not shake as she gave the order. If Miss Everdeen was as smart as Heavensbee seemed to think, she'd realize someday that her loss had only made her stronger.

She watched, unfeeling, as flames blossomed on her live video feed. People struggled in the streets, and eventually a handsome dark-haired boy – no, man, but just barely – led them towards the gates. Good. She'd worried they wouldn't have the survivors they needed. A death toll meant nothing if there was nobody left to remember their faces.

The pain she saw in the eyes of each and every one of the survivors was just what she needed. That anger, that hurt, that betrayal was everything her propaganda minister could hope for and more. The other districts could not refuse to join with her after hearing the accounts of the cruelty in Twelve. She leaned far back in her chair and allowed herself a smile. Proselytization by fire. _Perfect_.

.oOo.

**A/N:** Written for the monthly oneshot challenge on Caesar's Palace using the prompt 'la lumiere.' I hope you're enjoying these stories so far! I'd love to know what you think of them!


	4. Nostalgia

President Snow weighed the original envelope in his hands. "Such a shame. I was looking forward to you." He knew what lay inside. There was no rational reason to open it. Still, he tore at the paper, neglecting the knife-like letter opener beside him for the first time in years. The sheet that fell out held no purpose now, its words no longer worth the expensive stationary on which it had been printed seventy-five years before. The office of the president came with many responsibilities, and his time was a valuable asset not to be wasted, but, all the same, he read.

He smiled as he finished the first sentence. The last earned a chuckle, which sprayed a few drops of blood onto the crisp, white paper. Its contents were worthless, but he still wiped what he could away with the sleeve of his equally crisp, white shirt.

A true Arena with live spectators. What a lovely notion. He had been only a boy when he had sat with his grandfather in the cheap seats for the first Games. It was a pity he could not have given Cornelia a better view of the fun than he had enjoyed. In front of a screen, without the cheers of the crowd and the scents of blood, sweat, and roasted peanuts comingling, the Hunger Games held no more appeal for him than any other sporting event. He could see its function as a political tool, of course, and for it they was invaluable, but were he less invested in every potential power struggle, he would likely pay them little mind.

At age seven, the Games had been magical. Even from the top row of the amphitheater, he had felt as though he could taste the agony of the competitors. His binoculars left bright red marks around his eyes, but even today he would not have given up the view of the handsome Four boy's dismemberment to avoid them. Grandfather had booed when the Gamemakers released the enormous, maned cats into the Arena, complaining that the point was for the district children to kill each other, not be eaten by something the Capitol's scientists had cooked up in some lab. He had been fascinated. Seventy-five years later, he could still see the handlers prying the cat's jaws open from around the leg of their first victor.

Another chuckle escaped him. They didn't have Games like that anymore, and they wouldn't for at least another twenty-five years. Pity. He had looked forward to it.

Snow balled up the blood-stained stationary before walking over to the fireplace and tossing it in. After, a few stirs with the poker, he was content it would not come back to haunt him. When he returned to his desk, an identical envelope was waiting for him. He supposed one always did have to return to politics as usual. What a shame.

* * *

**A/N:** Written using the Caesar's Palace prompt _fetish._


	5. Raining Fire

She'd come here at the age of seventeen with one babe on her hip and the next one well on the way, and there weren't no way that she'd be leaving this here house except in a coffin. What had it been, seventy-five years? No, the third Quarter Quell was this year, and her second fell off the porch and broke his arm during the first Games, so it had to be closer to seventy-seven or seventy-eight. In any case, she wasn't leaving now.

Her granddaughter was less convinced. "You can live with us. My husband has a good job – it wouldn't be any strain on us."

"No, I'm staying right here."

"Please, Grandma, we'd all rest a little easier knowing that you're there with us. We worry so much about you living all alone." Sandra hadn't noticed the grey streaks in her granddaughter's hair before. She'd already been through this once with her own children, but connecting the middle-aged woman she saw before her with the little girl who had sat on her lap and asked for bedtime stories made her feel old, far too old.

"Sweetheart, I am ninety-four years old, and if Death hasn't come for me yet, it's 'cause he's too afraid to come knocking. If you hear a big ruckus down here someday, you know that I'm fighting him off as best I can."

Lila studied her for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not the older woman was joking. Eventually, it seemed, she gave up. "I still think you should come and stay with us."  
"And I still think you should learn to mind your elders and leave it alone."

"I'm just not sure it's safe."

She shook her head. "You've got better things to worry about than some old lady who won't just get on with it and die already. Go on now, get on out of here." Lila didn't budge. Hadn't changed a bit from that stubborn little girl, had she? "Leave. I'll be fine."

Still, she hesitated. "This isn't the last time we're going to have this conversation, you know. At your age, you need to be living with somebody else. After the Games, I want you to move in with us."

"Then I'll say no again another day. Get." Lila stalled for a bit, probably hoping she'd change her mind if she was given enough chances, but eventually, she said her goodbyes and let herself out. Sandra didn't sag into her armchair until she heard the creak of the porch step. She'd been meaning to fix that for years, but these days, those sorts of things just didn't bother her the same way they used to. Maybe they should, and this new apathy was a sign that she was slipping away faster than she thought, but she couldn't bring herself to change anything now. That creaky step was just as much a part of this home as she was, and she'd be damned if it left before her.

Despite what she had said to Lila, Sandra knew that she would have to leave soon. Not this home – no, it held decades-worth of memories that she'd never leave behind – but the world itself no longer had a spot for her. Times were changing, and she was too much a part of the past to ever join the coming future.

She poured herself a cup of tea and moved outside. More than likely, she didn't have too many beautiful summer days left, and it would be a shame to miss even one. Sitting on her rocking chair, her throne over the Seam, she could enjoy the shade and watch over her district. The children played on the dirt road the same way they always had, shouting and running and laughing as they fell and got stains in their clothes that would later have their mothers swearing over the washbasin. Days like this, in the very heat of summer, the sun's heat made waves in her vision, and Twelve looked like a dreamland, only a Peacekeeper here or there destroying that sweet illusion.

If the world could stay like this, perhaps she could be content. But no, there were always fools, souls brave and stupid enough to think they were the ones who would make a change that stuck. They hadn't realized yet that, at least here in District Twelve, none of those changes ever mattered. She wasn't old enough to remember the times before Panem, but her mother had passed down stories of what they had once been, and though she had presented it as a beautiful world where everyone had been equal, Sandra could see the lies beneath. A few thousand coal miners had nothing, would never have anything, and nothing would change that, for the people who did have power, money, influence, _anything, _would never agree to share. What difference was there really between the company store and the Capitol? They both owned you, after all.

She kept rocking, watching as day faded to night and children were called in for dinner and to watch the day's Games. The Peacekeepers could shoot her for not watching with them; she didn't much care. After years of working and slaving for nothing, it would at least be something different.

She stayed out there through the night, dozing off every once in a while, but mostly just observing the way the skeeters buzzed around the streetlight during the infrequent times it was lit or listening to the low owl's hoot followed by a soft chorus of mockingjay song.

Early that morning, the Peacekeepers came through ordering everyone to stay in. She obliged for just long enough to use the restroom and grab herself some breakfast. Then, she was back out on her porch, for Sandra was finished listening.

Soon enough, others realized that this was wrong, that this state of limbo could not last for long. A handsome young man - strong features, grey eyes, he looked so much like her husband once had – told her to come with them to the Meadow, but she declined. She wasn't leaving this house, and that was that.

Later, when fire rained from the sky, she still did not get up to leave. It was a small victory, certainly, but she had stayed.


	6. Submission on a Plate

**A/N:** Trigger warning for cannibalism

* * *

The paper had a stiffness to it, a sense of luxury, that he had never before seen, but it was not until he turned the letter over and saw eagle stamped into the red seal that he realized who must have sent this letter. Quickly, he tore open the envelope, and his stomach twisted into a knot as he read the message. "Is everything all right? Did I give you the wrong message?" the messenger boy asked, concerned. The child couldn't have been more than nine or ten. Terrible how quickly war made children grow up.

He shook his head and gave the sandy-haired boy a reassuring smile. "It's fine. Thank you, James. You're doing a very good job." And it should have been. With Two's recent strikes, the Capitol had to be on its last legs. He had been expecting news of a ceasefire for weeks now. Everything was going according to plan. With a wave and another quick thanks, the child went off on his way, but he could not so easily dismiss his concerns. Though said she was ready for peace, he could not bring himself to believe it. General Rainiers folded the note into uneven fourths and stuffed it into his breast pocket before reaching for his battered old walkie-talkie. The message was addressed to him alone, but the other leaders needed to know about this as soon as possible. With any luck, the war was, for all practical purposes, over.

Nine's other top military officials did not share his concerns. "She _should_ be ready to give in," his lieutenant said. "She's lost all her allies. The woman's not an idiot. She knows she can't win."

Rainiers ran his fingers through the few gray hairs that he still had. "Still, something feels wrong about this," he replied. After months of constant warfare, such a huge change was not something to be blindly accepted. Still, he could see the undeniable logic behind the president's move. "Don't worry, Mina, I'm going to do it. I'm just not sure about this whole thing. There's something off." He couldn't help but feel that he would have this exact conversation later with the rest of Nine's high-ranking officers. Best to get used to it, he supposed.

"Or maybe you're just being overcautious. There's every reason for her to want to surrender before an invasion of the Capitol. The woman's trying to maintain what little power she still has."

He had to nod at that. "It's always a good possibility. I suppose we'll see what President Cardinal really wants in a few days."

"Very good, sir."

And on some level, he had to admit it was.

* * *

The hovercraft arrived at five in the evening two days later, just as the letter had promised. As it touched down on the torched field, left barren after an early riot, the blast of warm exhaust forced Rainiers to hold his hat tight against his head to keep it from flying away. A handful of white-armored Capitol soldiers began to disembark. "Armed, but nothing too intense. That's a good sign," Liesel said.

He nodded but did not look away from the Capitol troops. "I would have been more concerned had they shown up without any weapons at all. There's no way that wouldn't be a trap."

"That's because you're a crusty, untrusting old man," his wife laughed. She rose up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Good luck, and I'll see you when the war's over."

"You think I'll need it?" He winked at her, and she pulled him down for another kiss.

"Stay safe and come back to me in one piece?"

He smiled. "I'll do my best." He hugged her and gave her one more kiss for just in case, and then it was time to leave. "I love you. See you again very soon."

"I love you too." Liesel waved as he strode towards the cadre of soldiers, trying to cloak his nervousness with false confidence. The new armor design covered the soldiers' eyes and face, and when he looked at them, he saw more machine than human staring back at him, and Rainiers had to suppress a shiver. Another benefit, from the Capitol's point of view at least, of the new visor was that he could find no clue of their intentions in their faces. Still, they held their weapons at their sides, and that would have to be enough for now. He had accepted months ago that he would probably die during this rebellion.

Once he passed the first guard, they formed up around him and marched him into the hovercraft. He looked over his shoulder for just a second to see his wife's face one last time, and then, he was in enemy territory. There was no going back now.

* * *

His unease lifted somewhat during the flight. Curiosity kept him from worrying; he had never stepped foot outside Nine's boundaries in his fifty-four years, and Rainiers was not going to miss this chance to see the rest of Panem, even if it was just from the window of a hovercraft. Nine looked different from up here, all green and gold and gorgeous. The river that split the district in half was only a curving blue line from this vantage point. Soon, though, the landscape changed. Fields morphed into hills that melted into mountains, and gold and green were replaced with blues and purples. "Sir, we'll be landing soon." Only a minute later, he saw the first skyscraper peeking through a gap between the mountains. Ah, the Capitol. On the ground, it seemed a world away, but they had been in the air for only half an hour.

Though the landing was gentle, Rainiers held tightly onto his armrests until the hovercraft was safely on the ground again. "Come along, sir. Our orders are to take you directly to the Presidential Mansion." He was whisked into an armored vehicle, and a short ride later, he found himself in front of a building familiar from decades of propaganda footage. The stone façade of the Presidential Mansion looked no less grand than it had at the beginning of the war. Perhaps only the districts had suffered through the last few months.

He had little time to ponder the possibility, as he was quickly ushered into the building. There, the very woman he'd been fighting against awaited him. "General Rainiers, so pleased to finally meet you in person." In person, her voice had the same authoritative edge he was used to from the broadcasts, but President Cardinal was far more petite than he had pictured her. In real life, she looked not unlike what little he could remember of his grandmother, and the thought brought back the same unease he had felt at reading her message two days prior.

Still, he could not allow his discomfort to get in the way of peace. "Thank you, Madam President. I'm glad that the day to talk peace has finally come." He held out his hand, and she shook it.

"Aren't we all," the woman smiled as she spoke, and when she let go of his hand, she gestured down the corridor. "The troops who escorted you were a little behind schedule. The others have already gathered. I hope you won't be disappointed if we put off negotiations for dinner. I know many of the representatives from the further-out districts have had very long journeys, and I would like to give them a chance to rest before we talk politics."

He agreed that dinner sounded like an excellent idea, and they walked side by side down the cavernous hall, the click of her heels echoing off stark, white granite walls. The occasional white-garbed attendant stood in front of one of the many twenty-foot-high doors, and each of them bowed slightly at the waist as they passed, but Cardinal did not acknowledge any of them until they arrived at the final door. She barely even looked at the two attendants, but they wordlessly opened the doors, revealing a table set for thirteen. Eleven of the seats were already filled with the other districts' nervous representatives, a few of which he recognized from the inter-district intelligence reports that had been smuggled into Nine, and Rainiers sat himself between the man from Eight and the woman from Nine.

President Cardinal smiled and waited for him to get settled before nodding to the servants to shut the door. Rainiers' stomach dropped when he heard a heavy bolt slide into place. They were trapped. "I assume many of you have observed that no delegate from District Thirteen is with us this evening," she began.

A few brave souls nodded, but most merely watched and waited for her to continue.

"Many of you, I'm sure, are familiar with Commander Bloodworth from Thirteen." This time, nobody dared speak. "A few days ago, we received a request from this Mister Bloodworth to negotiate a peace between us. Needless to say, we had little use for traitor scum that chose to act as though they had some amount of control over this nation." Her voice morphed into a snarl as she spoke, and Rainiers could not stop himself from pushing himself back against the seat in a vain attempt to get away from the woman. Harsh, almost animal gray eyes met his for only an instant before staring down the other members of the table. "The Capitol will accept only an unconditional surrender."

Was the woman mad? All of the districts were banded against her, and without the constant influx of supplies from the districts, her people must be desperate. The residents of the Capitol had never known hunger.

Rainiers studied her. Did she really think she could win, or was this all an elaborate bluff? He sneaked a glance at the other delegates, but all of them seemed as confused as him. His fingernails were digging deep into the plush armrests of his chair, and he forced himself to let go. "Now, let me show you what happened to District Thirteen when they made this request." Someone must have been watching or listening in, because at her words, a screen descended from a newly-formed slit in the ceiling. All of them waited in silent terror as an image came into focus.

For a moment, he couldn't comprehend what was before him. A vast landscape, dotted only by a few shelled-out, deeply charred buildings and blackened clumps dotted like confetti over the ground. Slowly, he realized that he was staring at a field of bodies, all that remained of District Thirteen. The woman next to him was shaking now, and after a moment, he realized he was as well. If the president could order this done to Thirteen, the best-armed and most powerful of the districts, what could she do to a group of poor farmers like Nine?

President Cardinal was far from finished. "No survivors, and the land around it will be poisoned for at least two hundred years. That took two nuclear weapons." She paused for a moment, allowing the information to sink in. "Our experts estimate that none of your districts would take more than twelve. We have three hundred left. I assume the rest of you will not make as unintelligent of a decision as your former comrades in Thirteen did."

A rustle of noise came from the table, but she silenced it with a look. "Now, I would be an ungracious host to force you all into a decision on empty stomachs. Let's continue this discussion after dinner." With a snap of her fingers, a massive silver tray was brought in, hoisted on the shoulders of two of the president's white-suited attendants who placed it gingerly at the very center of the table.

The eyes of the beast stared at him sightlessly, the entire face frozen in perfect agony. Rainiers could see the man's hands bound tight against his waist, but his positioning, limbs at strange angles, head back and to the side, spoke of torturous final moments. The warm golden brown of his flesh and the apple delicately balanced in his mouth, still open in a silent scream, only mocked the horror.

"Though he was a fool, I thought it would be a pity if we did not allow your friend Mister Blackworth to join us for dinner. Now now, do eat up. In your misguided attempt at self-governance, you've nearly starved all of us. There's no purpose in wasting such a lovely meal."


End file.
